Never Doubt
by Anansay
Summary: [GSR] - Grissom recalls some sage advice from a friend and decides to act on it.
1. Grissom

Never Doubt__

by Anansay 

June 26, 2003

"Never doubt. Never look back."

That's what she'd said. He told her he admired that, in a person. Catherine was always one for pointing out the obvious, even if it was to something totally different. 

What was admiration? Wasn't it something that one admired in another as something covertly coveted? Something amiss in one's own makeup? He never doubted himself when it came to forensics or entomology. He was quite sure of himself in those arenas. All of his decisions had been based on the premise that it would take him far in his chosen field. And indeed they had. He was night shift supervisor of the second best crime lab in the country. There wasn't much to complain about in that regard. No sir. 

There wasn't any regret in that regard either. After all, he was right where he wanted to be: examining crime scenes and compiling irrefutable evidence that would lock up the criminals without a shadow of a doubt. Yes, there wasn't a regret. In _that _area of his life. 

But he did doubt. And he did look back, often. Peeking over his shoulder and questioning many a decision he'd made over his life. Like: why had he chosen that seminar to teach? Why had he had coffee with her? Why had he left? Why had he called her back to him? And why, dammit, was his heart continuously riding on his sleeve whenever she was around? Surreptitiously riding, mind you, but there all the same. 

There was a constant stream of doubting thoughts coursing through his mind at any given time: should he make her go to the crime scene solo? Should he bring her with him? What words would make the air clear and free? What had he said to make it so cloudy and foggy? 

Wasn't three years enough to know whether you loved someone or not? 

He sat up straight at that thought. His couch had been his choice nook of thought lately, laying his head back on the soft cushions and letting his mind wander where it may. His eyes searched the living room, as though the answer lay somewhere among the haphazard scattering of furniture. Love? Now where had that come from. Sure, he liked her, respected her, admired her determination and gumption to travel the route toward conviction, no matter how evidentially or emotionally bumpy. There was a fierce determination that had caused him to bring her to him again, knowing that she would follow the trail until the end and never be strayed either way. He needed that objectiveness around him. Something to encourage his own objectivity, a feeding spot, so to speak. Catherine, Warrick and Nick were all good, but the boys were young and the three of them had worked with Holly. They wanted to find the killer for personal reasons. Sara, he knew, would dive right in with her objectivity and do what needed to be done. 

He'd forgotten how Sara could practically drown herself in a case, pouring her entire being into it until there was nothing left of her. He watched how she pummeled herself over the Adler case, never easing off, never giving an inch, spending her personal time silently vowing to Pamela that she would catch and punish the one who hurt her. It marveled him how she could feel so much even after all the other cases. 

There were times when a case hit too close to home for him. The baby. It boiled his blood when he thought about all the children being hurt in the world and there was so little he could do about it. Yeah, he let it get to him. But but what? 

Her tenacity her fortitude her fearlessness It all came down to one thing for Grissom. Here was a person who could intimately understand him on just about every level of his being. Here was a woman who enflamed his soul and set it to sing, who stirred his loins and ignited his intellect with just a look at times. A raised eyebrow in silent question, a broad grin as they merged their thoughts and came up with a single answer. It always brought a smile to his lips and a twinkle to his eye as the coalescent feeling overcame him. 

It was such a rarity to find someone so in-tune with oneself that questions could be answered without having been posed. It made communication so much easier. 

His heart lurched in his chest - until what needed to be said required the voice and sound to be understood and couldn't just be assumed. _Ass out of u and me. _Yeah, he'd been an ass, alright. The relaxed mind meld they experienced at work didn't necessarily translate to their personal life. He'd always assumed she knew how he felt, even if he himself didn't. The thought had never crossed his mind as to what might happen in the future with _this _between them. He'd always assumed something would happen, or not. 

And then _Hank. _And his world had been knocked from beneath his unsteady feet. He'd assumed erroneously all that time. So he did what anyone would have done: he protected himself, putting up barriers to keep the pain away, to keep her away. He walked away from her as he thought she'd walked away from him. 

But now Hank was out of the picture, the bastard that he was. And Sara was free. Sort of. But no more assumptions. If she'd chosen another, than that must mean she didn't reciprocate his unspoken feelings for her. So he stayed away some more, building up his walls ever tighter and higher and stronger. He would protect himself from her even more. And soon enough, he couldn't even hear anybody. And that's when the fear set in, but small at first, like anything bound to be big in the end. He'd dismissed it as a temporary thing that would repair itself in time. Like a cold, a minor temporary inconvenience. He worked around it having much experience in lip reading. In time it simply became natural to watch the lips even when he could hear. But watching _her _lips became more of a distraction than anything else. So he devised it so that he wouldn't have to. How clever of him, right? Well 

It happened so slowly that he never really noticed it. She'd stopped even trying to talk to him. He could still feel her watching him, but the only words shared were those that needed to be shared. And after that, nothing. A part of him was convinced it was merely student stepping away from the teacher to stand on their own two feet, and he was proud of her. But there was another, more insidious voice hissing in his head that she was actually walking away from him. That he'd blown it and she was leaving. He would never have to avoid looking at her lips again. He would be spared the agony of watching her hips sway as she strolled the crime scene, eyes forever alert for that one piece of out-of-place evidence that would nail the case. 

_It may be too late _

Was it already too late? She certainly wasn't _trying _to do anything to forward her previous suggestion of dinner. In fact, if he hadn't been there himself, he would have sworn nothing of the sort had ever taken place, her demeanour unchanged from before. Was she waiting? 

_By the time you figure it out_

Yeah, she was waiting. _You figure it out _But she was also living as she waited. Waited for him to figure out what _this _was. 

What _was _'this' anyway? He had studiously avoided labelling it all this time. Respect? Admiration? Attraction? Friendship? Love? Lust? Pure unadulterated lust? Or pure and virtuous love? She was his CSI. She worked for him. She was his employee, his underling, his charge, his He gulped. Nearing the truth was more painful than he had ever imagined. 

What was she, exactly? To him? Beyond all the technical things. 

His heart screamed out at him. He knew the answer, he really did. But to acknowledge it to listen to it, to see it, to hear it, to know it That was another thing entirely. 

Grissom sighed as he fell back against his couch. Middle of the day philosophy sessions just weren't his favourite pastimes. He really ought to be sleeping, but her face kept distilling itself before his eyes. 

_Dinner _Was it really so bad? 

_Let's just see what happens _Yeah, what would happen? They'd eat, that's what. They'd have good conversation, they'd laugh, they'd discuss the latest in forensic news. She might even have another article in her head she'd share with him, negating him having to purchase the magazine. 

_I have you. _God!! Had he actually said that?? What the hell did that mean anyway? And _why, _by gods!, had he even said those words?! No wonder she thought _Because that's what you really feel! _Came the thought unsought. 

He grunted as the implication slammed it's way home. He had her. Sure, he signed her damn paycheques!

And she had him. 

That was a truth that didn't sit well with him. He'd sent her the plant. _ Please stay with me, _was what ought to have been written on the note. The thought of her leaving was not something he chose to spend much time brooding over. She had stayed, end of story. No use rehashing the past, right? And yet He felt certain she was once again teetering on the edge of leaving him, again. And this time a plant just wouldn't do it. Not even flowers, or chocolate, or 

Maybe dinner. Dinner What harm? 

He leaned over and stared at the phone by his arm. Long, sleek and black. He held it in his hands staring at the numbers mentally dialing hers. His fingers moved over them and made as though to touch them. They were shaking. He dropped the phone to his side and took a deep breath. It's just dinner. He picked it up again and dialed... the first three numbers and stopped. Did he really want to do this? He continued dialing the next two. And then stopped. His breathing was coming in quick short gasps and his head was feeling light and airy. He took a deep breath and continued dialing the last two numbers. Holding it to his ear, he could hear it ringing. Once. Twice. Three times. Maybe she wasn't home. Okay, a message then. What kind of message? A voice came on. 

"Sidle." 

Nothing else. No "...after the beep..." She had answered her phone! His breath caught in his throat as his mind emptied itself of everything, including his reason for calling. Who was he calling again? 

"Hello?!" came her curt voice, impatient now. "Who's there?"

"Uh..." he said, stumbling to recapture a smidgen of his former intelligence. "Sara?"

"Grissom? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said shortly. "Um... how are you?" that universal greeting meant to break the ice and yet it almost always failed its purpose. Like now. 

"I'm... fine. And you?" her confusion was quite evident in her voice. 

"Fine." Grissom stumbled, still trying to get the words out. Dinner... 

"What can I do for you, Grissom?" Yes, now she was officially cold. 

His eyes traveled around the room. That shell-shocked feeling of having to speak in front of a sour-faced group of people had overwhelmed Grissom and he sat on his couch, sweat beading on his forehead, his hand trembling as he held the phone to his ear. He just prayed he didn't drop the phone - his hand felt clammy against it. "Do you - I mean, how about we - uh... you had mentioned -"

"Griss?" she interrupted him. 

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you stuttering... to me?"

"I'm not stuttering."

Silence. A long cold silence. 

"Sara?"

"Yeah?"

His lips worked but nothing came out. 

"Are you choking?" she asked him, worry creeping into her voice. 

"No. Why?" 

"Well, you're making strange sounds."

He closed his eyes as a vision of her confused face came into focus. Oh, what must she think of him now? Taking a deep breath, willing all of his strength to surface, he breathed out forcefully, expelling the words on one loud outtake of breath. "Do you wanna have diner with me?" 

And then he sat there, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he anticipated her response with a heavy heart. 

No response. He opened first one eye and then other, as though she were right before him and ready to clobber him. Still nothing, just silence. Maybe she'd hung up. He brought the phone slowly away from his ear and prepared himself for the inevitable: the dial tone. 

He brought the phone back to his ear and said softly, "Sara?"

"Yes."

"Oh... I, uh, thought you hung up."

"Yes."

"You did?" He mentally slapped his forehead at the corny response. 

"No. And yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Yes... what?"

"Yes, I'll have dinner with you."

And now it was Grissom's turn to offer a moment of perplexed silence as he digested that one simple word. Yes. She'd said yes. She'd have dinner with him. "You will?"

"Yes, Grissom. I will."

"Oh... wow... uh, okay. When?"

"Are you working tonight?"

"No."

"I am."

Grissom shut his eyes. Damn. Wait, wasn't he the boss? "No, you're not working."

"It says so on the calendar."

"As of now, you're not. You're having dinner with me." Now where did that officious confidence suddenly come from? he wondered. 

He could almost hear her smiling through the phone. "Okay." 

He bit his lip. "Okay, then. Uh, do you wanna come by around seven?" 

"Your place?" 

"Well... yeah. I thought, uh...," he gulped, "it might be more... personal... here." 

"Personal."

Panic set in at her tone. Maybe that was too much to ask for so soon. Maybe a restaurant would be better. That way she couldn't hurt him... too much. "Okay, personal's out. A restaurant instead. I'll pick you up around seven."

"Personal's fine, Griss. I'll be there for seven."

Grissom's heart thudded in his throat, threating to choke off any more words. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay then... uh... bye?"

"Bye, Grissom. I'll see you tonight."

"Yes. Tonight." Okay, now was the time when one usually hung up the phone! 

Click. At least Sara knew how to end a conversation. 

He glanced at his watch. 2:17. Just under five hours. 

Five very long hours. 

~*~


	2. The Date

Chapter Two

Five hours was a long time to wait... for anything. Grissom was by nature a patient man. One tended to be patient having to wait for insects to hatch and grow so as to calculate time of growth and maturation for crime scene cases. But in this case, five hours was like waiting for Christmas... in summer. 

For such a studiously neat person, there wasn't much to do to occupy his time. A few glasses and a couple of plates required some attention. He stood in his living room, slowly turning on his heels, surveying his chosen place of abode. With a sinking heart, he realized how spartan were his living quarters: a couch - small loveseat actually, a table before it for the occasional beer, kitchen table and chairs. His most peculiar addition to the homey atmosphere were the multitude of encased dead insects behind glass cases hanging on the walls. Each case contained a genus of a specific species: butterflies, roaches, beetles, among others. He suddenly wondered whether such embellishments might turn her stomach from the task of eating. He bit his lip in consternation as he pondered whether to remove them or not. It was then he realized she'd worked side by side with him for over three years, many instances in very close contact to the various insects present at various crime scenes. His worry was for naught; she'd be fine. 

After a close and personal inspection of his kitchen, he realized with dawning dismay that he lacked many of the required ingredients for a particular dish he'd always wanted to attempt. After a moment of intense personal glee, it was dimmed to non-existence when he remembered she was a vegetarian. Hmm, with what to exchange the grasshoppers...? 

Grabbing his keys and jacket, he headed for his vehicle, intent on a stop at his local market. 

~*~

Sara hung up the phone with a sense of having stepped off the cliff of sanity and was now tumbling and spinning in the air as she tried to find something - anything - with which to stop the tumultuous fidgeting her body had commenced upon hearing the words, "you're having dinner with me tonight." It had taken everything in her not to scream into the phone at what had happened to cause such a drastic change in Grissom's behavior for his to have asked her to dinner. And then, to invite her to his place. That arcane abode that existed only in her tireless imagination. Many a times she had wondered just what his place of rest might look like, would there be bug specimens - both dead and fake - on all available surfaces? Would she open his refrigerator and search desperately for something halfway edible among an eclectic collection of bottles and petrie dishes containing some unknown - and possibly growing - substances? Yes, her imagination had certainly provided vivid details of the myriad possibilities. 

Now, she sat on her couch, staring unseeingly ahead, trying in vain to come back down to earth. She looked at her watch. 2:31. Almost five hours before... the date. A date with Gil Grissom. Well, not exactly a date per say. It was just dinner, after all. Two grown people sharing a meal together. She remembered a bit of flighty information once shared to her by one of her roommates' fathers: sharing a meal was sharing food. In times when food was scarce, sharing what little there was created a bond between people. Those who shared the food were giving of themselves, even if they didn't have enough to go around properly in their own family. And the one being shared with felt the honour of having been shared something that wasn't really there to share. A trust was initiated. 

Grissom was sharing his food with her, essentially sharing himself with her. It was his food, his home. A particular sense of humour began to grow in her belly and she stood from the couch with shoulders held back and her head held high as she decided this night was much more important than just two people sharing some food. No matter than they lived in one of the more economically affluent countries where the threat of starvation was far on the horizon for those more or less well off. This had nothing to do with sharing of food. This went much deeper. This was a sharing of souls. And with someone as closed off as Grissom, it was indeed a momentous occasion and one Sara felt honoured to have been invited to share. 

Four hours and then some. A shower was in order. Definitely. After last night's shift, she had simply come back home and slouched on her couch, alternately listening to her radio, reading a magazine, watching televisions and dozing on her couch. Her bed just felt way too empty these days. She sauntered to her bathroom and disappeared behind the closed doors to perform the esoteric acts a woman needed to do to prepare for a date with a man. 

~*~

Grissom stood in the aisle of the market, glancing from the kumquats to the lichee fruit, wondering which one would Sara fancy more. With a sigh, he grabbed a handful of lichee and a handful of kumquats and threw them into a bag and into the cart. His skin prickled with tension as his mind ran over and over all the details required to make this evening a memorable one. He wanted nothing to go wrong. Taking his other purchases to the cashier - who regarded him oddly, a man with such eclectic purchases had to be... odd - he paid and grabbed his purchases and headed to his vehicle. 

He was halfway home when he remembered the flowers. He'd wanted to buy some and make his place smell half decent, not like a holed up cabin freshly opened after a winter's lockup. The windows had been opened before he left, but he still felt the need for something other then the exhaust from the passing cars. 

With a mumbled curse, he turned the car around and headed back the way he came. The florist's shop was in the same district as the market. Walking in, he was assailed by the multitude of perfumes floating amid the colourful displays of just about every flower known to man. Or so Grissom thought at first glance. He chose a colourful mixture of wild flowers. Sara was a wild flower, rather colourful in her approach to life. There wasn't one particular flower that could categorize her in Grissom's mind. So, the wild flowers it was. Wrapped carefully in paper, he headed back to his vehicle. 

He checked his watch. 3:34. Three hours. 

~*~

Stepping from the shower feeling calmer and more revived, Sara stood before her closet with a scowl furrowing her brows. Black pants, tye-died shirts, vests. Her attire of choice didn't leave much in the way of 'date clothes.' With a sigh, she began parting clothes hoping to find some elusive outfit from her yonder days of dating. Tucked not so neatly in the back was a little black dress of disproportionate size, being a little too short on the bottom and not much on top, with probably too much in the middle. For such little material at either end, it seemed ironic that the middle should be covered as well. She had no memory of actually purchasing such a sleazy 'do'. She brought it down anyway and laid it on her bed... just in case. Dropping the towel and donning some quasi-sexy mauve underwear, she slipped the dress on and turned to her full length mirror behind her door. 

After picking her jaw up off the floor, she examined herself critically. Yeah, too short. It screamed, "take me now!" Grissom would not be impressed. At all. 

A few more tossed clothes and another maroon outfit made its appearance. Spaghetti straps and of moderate length, it seemed a little more tactful than the black number now tossed in the corner. It didn't take up much room at all. 

The maroon outfit brought colour to her cheeks and made her look a little more alive. Her eyes roamed over her body, noting the accentuated curves. A smile began at the corner of her lips and soon she was grinning like a fool in love. The maroon outfit tonight. 

Another quick search brought out a pair of badly squashed-yet-still-usable maroon shoes. She stared at them a moment, trying to remember in what decade they might have been purchased. Shrugging her shoulders she put them on and checked the entire ensemble. Not bad, she thought. 

She stripped from her outfit and laid it on the bed and wrapped her body in her housecoat. Time for makeup. 

~*~

Grissom fumbled in his pockets for his keys while he balanced two bags in either hand and the carefully wrapped package of flowers tucked under his arm. With a grunt, he kicked his door open and tumbled inside, one bag dropping to the floor with sickening wet sound, the other just barely missing getting trampled by his stumbling feet. With a sigh and another curse, he set the bags atop the counter and the flowers beside them. 

Time check. 4:13. A little less than three hours. 

He surveyed his kitchen as though mentally outlining the circuitous route of preparing such an elaborate meal. He donned an apron and retrieved a cookbook from a remote area of a bookcase in the corner, opening it to the page in question. Taking out mixing bowls and ingredients on hand, he lined them up according to when they needed adding. He examined everything before him, and made a mental itinerary of everything that needed doing. 

Forty-five minutes later, the pan was patted down with the gooey compound. He stared at his messy hands and wiped them down his apron. He set the timer and turned the oven on and inserted the pan, making sure the tin foil was securely wrapped around all edges so as to keep in the moisture. As he was closing the door, he caught an awful whiff of something rather toxic. He scanned the kitchen, checked the garbage can - and emptied it down the trash chute. When he came back in the stench was still ever present. With a start he realized it was the fridge. Just when was that petrie dish put in there again? He sniffed it. Nothing. Fridge was clean. 

He ran around the apartment trying to find the source of the odious odour. His fastidious cleaning had guaranteed nothing rancid was found. With a deep sigh, he raised his arms above his head, ostensibly to release the frustration in his shoulders. And that's when he smelt it. Him. Tucking his nose to his armpit, he took a tentative whiff... and almost passed out. All that nervous running around and he was a stinkpot ready to blow. He grimaced and headed for the shower. The pate needed about an hour to cook, he ought to be fine. 

~*~

Sara stood in front of her full length mirror. Her investigative skills took over and she examined herself scrupulously from the tip of her head down to her toes. Nothing was out of place or missing. With a deep heavy sigh to calm her frantically beating heart, she grabbed her pursed and keys from the table and headed out the door to her vehicle.

It was on her way toward the car that she realized something was wrong. Something was missing. Gravel should not feel so sharp through shoes. Glancing down at her feet she realized what was missing. Her shoes. Biting her lip and cursing, she spun around and headed back toward the door, praying and hoping her neighbors wouldn't catch a glimpse of the crazy woman whoworked nights with dead bodies, now walking outside all doled up with no shoes. 

There they were, waiting for her by the door like a pair of perky little shoes, quietly lifting their noses up at her for forgetting them on this night of nights. 

In the car, she gripped the stirring in a death grip and commanded her heart to beat just a little slower so she could actually hear the thumping and not some manic variation thereof. She checked her watch, plenty of time to get to Grissom's. Now, let's just hope the traffic behaved that night and she wasn't late. 

~*~

Grissom let the warm water cascade over his tense body and closed his eyes as the truth of the moment settled in him. Sara was coming over for dinner, a dinner that he had cooked. His heart jumped in his chest and he felt the familiar stirrings in his loins whenever he thought of her in his solitude. At work, he always had cases to rip his mind away from such lewd thoughts. But here in the warmth of the shower, he let his mind wander over the familiar fantasies of him and her... 

His eyes shot open. His hand had gravitated toward an area that did not require attention at the moment. He needed to wash up. And jumped from the shower. Yeah, he actually hopped over the edge. He stumbled as his toe caught the edge and he nearly went flying into the door. He caught himself and cursed his overeagerness. 

He went to his bedroom and stood in front of his own closet, perusing the shirts and slacks. Now, which colour shirt... baby blue? dark grey? light grey? black? In the end, he chose a pair of black slack and a dark grey shirt - open at the neck. Simple yet rather attractive, if he'd had to comment on it. Socks and a pair of casual shoes completed the outfit. 

In the bathroom, hair brushed and teeth brushed, he began to smell another smell. A rather unpleasant smell. Grissom immediately checked himself, but he smelled way to good. He stood in the bathroom, staring into a partly fogged mirror and tried to decipher the odorous puzzle without having to run around his house again. 

It was when he stepped out into the hallway that he realized what it was. 

A thin plume of smoke was seeping from atop the over door and his place had a rather foggy appearance. If it weren't for the open windows, he might have been alerted to the culinary disaster long before it became apparent that the pate would not be fit for even the neighborhood dogs. 

He dashed into the kitchen and yanked open the door, and a thick gush of smoke billowed out and choked him. When it cleared, he was left with the charred specimen of a vegetarian pate. Hands gloved, he reached in and brought out the remains with slow deliberate movements of one carrying a casket from a church. He sighed long and loud as he placed it gingerly on the stovetop and stared it, like it would answer the question of why it had to allow itself to burn on this night of nights. 

And then to make matters worse, his doorbell rang. A rather pleasant sound mocking the devastation that lay before him. He jerked upright, his eyes wide as he hoped it wasn't Sara arriving early. 

He covered the mess on the stove with a teatowel and ran to the door. Sara's distorted face appeared in the peephole, much to his consternation. Bracing himself for the worse, he eased the door open and presented himself to Sara.

~*~

Sara stood in the doorway trying hard not to wrinkle her nose at the stench that emanated from his open door all the while trying to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. Grissom stood before her in black and grey, his blue eyes seeming a deeper, darker blue in the light and casual atmosphere. There was not much way to disguise her attraction as she overtly gawked at him, allowing her eyes to run down and back up his body, taking in every detail from his shoes, to his belt buckle, the bit of chest showing at the top and back to his blue eyes. She smiled widely at Grissom. He looked at her with a shy grin, and she began to piece together the pieces. "Uh, hi," she said. "Can I come in?"

Grissom glanced quickly into his kitchen and then back at her, his eyes wider. "Uh, sure." He backed up and let her enter. 

She walked past him taking slow steps, wondering what lay in store for her beyond the door. He closed it behind her and stood by it, not moving. She turned and handed him the bag with the bottle of wine she had picked up on the way over. "Wine?"

He took the bottle with shaking hands, and pulled it from the bag. He stared at it a moment and then looked up at Sara and tried to smile. "This is nice." 

She smiled in return and then looked down, suddenly not knowing what to do. And what was that odour? 

He walked past her to the table. "Uh, Sara... I have a confession..." 

She watched him walk away from her. "Uh oh," she said to herself. 

He turned to her. "Well, it's not that bad, really."

"What is it? You changed you mind about tonight?"

"No! No. It's uh..." he glanced toward his kitchen. "It's dinner. I'm afraid..."

"It's burnt," Sara said plainly. 

He looked away from her. "Yeah," he said quietly, still not looking at her. Then he went to the table and grabbed the package of flowers. "Here, as an apology."

She took the package, her eyes questioning this sudden move. She peeled the top layer of paper away to reveal the kaleidoscope of colour and scents. "Flowers?"

He scratched his head. "Well... they were supposed to go on the table, you know, as a decoration. But..." he glanced at the kitchen one more time. "There's no supper."

She stared at him, at the flowers, then at him again. She placed them on the table again and went to stand before him. A hand on his face drew his eyes to hers. Her chocolate brown eyes commanded his entire attention. "Griss, there's always take-out." 

His eyes shot to hers. "I didn't want take-out, Sara. I wanted to cook you dinner. I wanted us to have a proper dinner you know... a proper date."

"A date?"

He stared into her eyes hard. "A date. But now..." he looked again at the kitchen. 

"Griss. It's fine."

He pursed his lips. "I'm sorry. I should have checked the temperature... I shouldn't have taken a shower with the oven on... I should have..."

"What are you doing?" she asked him. "It happened. Deal with it. We can call out for food, we can go out for food. It's now, here and now. That's the past. Leave it there."

"Never look back," he whispered.

"What?"

"Something Catherine told me once... 'Never doubt. Never look back.' " 

"She's right, you know. If you live in the past, you don't go on. You're stuck."

He stared at her, humour making his eyes twinkle. "And I though I was the one with all the quirky sayings."

She shrugged. "They rub off."

He was staring at her, his cerulean blues into her mocha browns. And she found she couldn't look away. Her hand still rested in his and she felt him squeeze it, his thumb rubbing the delicate skin of her inner wrist. Just that one little touch sent shivers up her arm and into her shoulders, and then cascading down her body to her toes, leaving a good portion of feel-good hormones in that secret spot in her tummy. Her breath caught in her throat as he continued to look at her, stealing away what incoherent thoughts could form in her mind. Her lips suddenly felt dry and she licked them and was amused when his eyes flicked downward to gaze on her moistened lips. It was both an exciting moment and one of trepidation. She knew they were on a threshold of something completely new to both of them. 

Grissom took a step forward and their chests touched. His head descended and his lips brushed delicately over hers. A tender touch of feeling and testing. It lasted but a moment but a moment was all that was needed. Sara opened her eyes and confronted with his eyes of stormy deep blue. His chest heaved against hers, his breathing as erratic as her own. His hand slid up her bare arm, fingers barely touching flesh leaving goosebumps in its wake. Sara stood still, unable to move in his spell. His fingers reached her collarbone and then traveled around to the nape of her neck and then up into her hair. Her body shivered and her eyes closed, his sensual touching and teasing made her sway on her feet toward him. He wrapped his other hand around her waist and held her body to his gently. As his fingers worked magic on her scalp, his lips sent tendrils of fire coursing through her body as they savoured the delicate skin of her neck before slowly making his way toward her earlobe. 

Sara's lips were parted and her breathing frenetic, her hands clutching his shoulders to keep her balance against him. She moaned softly, tilting her head, wanting to feel more of him against her skin. Grissom acquiesced and trailed his lips across her collarbone to the other side before making his way to her jawbone, and then her cheek, kissing every inch of the way, leaving no gaps in between. He kissed first one closed eye and then the other before coming down the other cheek. Sara could not believe how aroused she was becoming by such little touches. But this was Grissom. When he came to the corners of her mouth, she turned her head and captured his lips with hers, grasping his head to keep him there. She needed to feel his lips on hers, to know what they would feel like against hers, bruising them with their tempestuous ardour. She opened her mouth at the same as he did and their tongues met and sparks flew through her body. 

Being kissed by Grissom was everything she had ever thought it could be, and then some. Just the idea provided enough yarn to weave dreams with, but to actually be kissing him, to have his mouth on hers, and his hands on her body was a combination of delirium and ecstasy. She returned his embrace with as much fervor and desire as could be possessed by a single body in a moment of passion. 

How many nights had she lain in her bed thinking of Grissom, dreaming of him, wanting him? And feeling like nothing when by his side? All she'd ever wanted was for him to see her. There was nothing in the world that seemed to matter more than being in his arms. It had grown to encompass much more than she'd thought possible. Keeping her mind on track was proving more and more difficult. If she thought it was hard before when they worked together and he'd make those sly little comments of his, she'd had no idea how mind-numbing torturous it would be to be completely ignored by him, treated as though she were a barely cognizant being worthy of attention. 

His lips left hers and the coolness of the air rushing in against moist lips opened her eyes and she stared wide-eyed into his glazed ones. It was a sight she'd only imagined in her wildest dreams, how his eyes would change if ever they... And now she knew, they only got darker and more intense, drawing and trapping her like deer before headlights. Her body tingled with renewed anticipation, her dreams and fantasies paling in comparison to this actual encounter. 

Grissom's eyes searched her face, searching for that elusive element for which his mind had for so long pined. Her eyes were the mirrors of her soul, so open and so inviting, they drew him in like a moth to a flame, her burning flame of desire. For him. Her fingers in his hair gently massaging his scalp were shattering any coherent thought that formed in his mind. The distraction was not wholly unwelcome, but he felt the need to speak before this progressed too far. There were things Grissom needed to say. Things long left unsaid but very much felt, their stinging absence a sore that needed tending. 

"Sara," Why was her name always the first thing to come out? Like a beacon in the night, her name called to him, images forever afloat on the turbulent seas of his tormented mind. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I just want to know..." Her eyes were stealing his words, her fingers picking them from his brain with their endless manipulations of his body's responses. He closed his eyes and groaned deep in his throat, trying to stay afloat as the waves crashed over him, attempting to bring him down once again. Down into the depths that were Sara. "...why?"

Sara's eyes cleared for a moment has his question slowly sunk home. "What do you mean?"

Grissom's brow furrowed as he attempted to find the words that would express what he was feeling: the confusion, the desire, the unending need to know. He shook his head as nothing came forward. "...why, Sara? I don't understand."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why me?" he finally said.

"You... why you?" Now Sara shook her head in confusion.

"After everything that's happened, why are you here... with me... still?"

There wasn't a noticeable difference, nothing one could put their finger on, but Sara's eyes changed, not their colour, not their shape, not their intensity. It wasn't anything tangible, but it was there all the same. Grissom felt it, like a clearing away of old cobwebs. "You haven't figure it out yet, have you?"

"Figured out what?"

Her lips moved, first a hint of smirk and then a hint of something else before it finally decided upon a smile. Just a small one, but one that had many stories to tell. It told of long nights working with him, long days laying in bed dreaming of him, long moments thinking of him, long time wanting him. "It's more than just a crush, Grissom. More than just a student pining away for her sexy older teacher. A crush tapers off after a while, love only grows with time."

"Love?"

"Grissom, are you always this dense, or do you enjoy playing games with people?"

His eyes searched hers endlessly, going from one to the other, as though measuring what each said against the other, comparing. "I'm not playing games."

"You need me to say it."

He only stared at her, but his eyes spoke of needs and desires and urges. 

"Grissom, I love you. That's why I've stayed around so long. I should have left a long time ago but... love has this strange thing of taking away independent thought and leaving nothing coherent in its wake. I stayed because I really couldn't leave."

His hand came up and caressed the softness of her cheek as a tear rolled down and landed on his finger. A single tear, a single manifestation of what had been churning inside her for so long. He stared at the tear as it wet his hand and then disappeared between their skin. The pain of so long like a water droplet between them, but now it disappeared, wetting them both and bonding them together, finally. 

Sara closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, so warm against her cheek it was like a brand against her skin, marking her as his forever. She sighed, "Why do I always have to cry?" she whispered.

"Because you feel so much and you're not afraid to show it. Unlike some of us..." his voice trailed off as his eyes clouded over with memories. 

Sara opened hers. "Au contraire, Grissom. You show more than you think. You just don't act on it. Like some of us..."

He met her eyes again and smiled, a small smile that creeped up from behind his mask of self-deprecation. They were standing so close, their bodies touching and barely pressing against each other. Sara was surprised that speech was possible in such a situation as had been cavorting through her mind for the longest time. "I'm going to act."

"Are you?"

"Yes." A firmness in his voice that made her body tingle and her senses come alive like wild fire. Grissom bent his head and pressed his lips to Sara's, gently but with a firmness that left no more questions in her mind as to his intentions. He pulled her body against his, and she could feel just how intent he was. Of its own volition, her body began to move against his, sending tiny sparks erupting in them as he groaned into her mouth, his arms tightening around her. Oh yes, there was definitely no more doubt in her mind, nor in his. 

Breaking the kiss, Sara took Grissom's hand and started walking backward toward what she hoped was his bedroom. He glanced above her head and then back at her, questions in his eyes, Are you sure? 

Her eyes darkened as her hand tightened around his, pulling him to her, Yes. "Take me to your bedroom, Gil. I'm not hungry anymore," she said. 

He scooped her up in her arms, taking her mouth with his and quelling her yelp of surprise at his sudden chivalrous action. "Yes, my lady, my Sara."

~*~


End file.
